


tactics

by poalimal



Series: 🏴☠️ tropes ahoy! R76 edition 🏴☠️ [9]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: AFAB Terminology, Age Differences, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Etiquette is control etc, Fic in the Time of Quarantine, Gen, In Keeping with the A/B/O Theme:, M/M, Pheromones Described as a Narcotic, Physiological Manipulation, Privilege, SEP was Never Dismantled, Snippet, The Omnic Crisis Lasts Longer, Unwilling Arousal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:47:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29333295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poalimal/pseuds/poalimal
Summary: Gabriel's a week in the hospital when Morrison finally forces a first meeting.
Relationships: Reaper | Gabriel Reyes/Soldier: 76 | Jack Morrison
Series: 🏴☠️ tropes ahoy! R76 edition 🏴☠️ [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1759780
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	tactics

**Author's Note:**

> Please note the 'AFAB Terminology' tag. There's also an ambiguous, blink-and-miss-it reference to pregnancy that I left untagged.

Gabriel's a week in the hospital, re-growing his arm, when Morrison finally forces a first meeting. The window in his room has a draft; his body still runs cold. He is in excruciating pain.

So much for rest and relaxation.

By now it has become obvious - to Gabriel, at least - that the Security Council is grooming Morrison to replace him as Strike Commander. Maybe Morrison doesn't know that his recent promotions usually take years to achieve? That they took years for Gabriel to achieve? That it's not some happy accident the Council suddenly decided he'd be a perfect fit to 'assist' Gabriel during his recovery? 

Maybe he doesn't want to know. 

God. Gabriel never wanted to have to meet this man. The very first time Petras mentioned Morrison, he praised him for his 'decisive command' (alphan), his 'traditional background' (white Protestant), and his 'optimistic outlook' (youthful). It spooked Gabriel immediately. He's spent all these many months trying to get away from any more mention of the man.

And now Morrison looms over his hospital bed, sculpted and oblivious, going on and on about how _honoured_ he is to work with Gabriel, and what an _admirer_ of Gabriel's career he's always been. He is painstakingly polite, for all that he insisted on seeing Gabriel at his weakest. He even lowers his shoulders and head when he speaks, showing the soft of his hands: the way civilian alphas are taught to engage wounded omegas. 

Old-fashioned, then - or the military hasn't trained the impulse out of him yet. 

Or perhaps he is showing exactly what he thinks of Gabriel.

Gabriel shows his teeth. Morrison stops talking at once.

'It was very,' Gabriel says, 'nice meeting you, Lieutenant Commander.' He dismisses him, then, turning his head pointedly toward the window. 

But Morrison doesn't leave. Gabriel turns back to him slowly, his throat, cheeks and ears prickling all over. 

Morrison has a hand held out for him to shake. There's blood in his cheeks, Gabriel notes; a blusher. His voice is quiet now, and low: 'It was nice meeting you, too, sir.'

Gabriel stares at the meat of Morrison's hand with a curious sense of detachment. He wonders... what would happen if he tore into it with his teeth? 

Probably wouldn't even matter; probably Morrison would heal in a few minutes. It's clear the SEP shit took properly with Morrison. _He_ could probably regrow his arm in an hour... and he wouldn't need five fucking machines to get his body to do it.

Of course a man like Morrison would make him shake his hand. He probably imagines them as equals. And isn't that a funny thought?

The resentment nearly chokes him on the way down - cold and getting colder. It's the inevitability of it that gets him - his own stupid fucking naivety. Did he really think it would play out differently? Why would it matter all that he's given up for Overwatch - over a decade of his life, the best years of a bad marriage, two viable pregnancies - all that's brought him to this small fucking hospital bed. None of it mattered! Of course some white-ass, dumbass, wet-behind-the-ears-ass alpha would reap the fucking rewards of everything that _he_ worked for. Of course he would have to sit here - have to lay here - have to _lie_ here - and take it. To see exactly how little fucking power the Security Council wants him to have. 

And of course he has to be fucking _civil_ about it.

A sneak wind ruffles Morrison's hair. There goes that draft. Morrison's expression wavers - he frowns. He can probably smell Gabriel's agitation. 

'Sir?' he says.  
  
Gabriel swallows a growl. _Fuck you_ , he thinks, reaching out to grab Morrison's hand, _you'll never_ \--

Their palms barely graze - 

and Gabriel's whole body lights up. 

His nipples go tight - he feels a bloom of warmth in his chest, his belly, his cunt, all over his body. He looks up at Morrison in shock, he doesn't let go; his heart pulses in his face. His cunt starts to slick.

It's... he swallows - he decides: it's humiliating.

From this close, Morrison can smell him. From this close, Morrison _does_ smell him, flaring his nostrils, closing his eyes and breathing in deep. It's humil--, oh, it's-- Morrison opens his eyes again with a deep hum - his eyes are dark and dilated now - a noise is pulled from Gabriel's throat, an answer. _Oh - please_.

Morrison glances back at the door to his room - half-open. He drops Gabriel's hand, coming closer quickly when Gabriel's face drops, too. From this close, Gabriel can smell _him_ , now - balsam and pepper, amber and musk. Something about it makes makes his head go fuzzy and hot, makes his cunt tingle and throb. Another one of those impossible noises drags out of him.

'Alright, sir?' Morrison murmurs, half-bent over him now. Gabriel's gown rucks up his thighs as he rolls his hips, he needs, he needs-- he tries to sit up, to get closer to Morrison, and flinches horribly in pain. His _arm_. He grunts in pain - and Morrison gets on the bed beside him, he undoes the buttons on the neck of his uniform, he pulls him into his arms; he pours off that warm, peppery smell that melts away all of Gabriel's pain, all of his thoughts. Gabriel sighs in perfect relief against him, rutting wet and languid against his thigh. 

He tunes the man out with some success - he's saying... something about... wanting this for years... trying to find him again-- oh, nothing that matters.

All that matters is that Gabriel's warm - finally - he's not alone - he's just... very tired--

**Author's Note:**

> If I never write the word 'slick' again... I shall die, fulfilled.


End file.
